


Lost and Found

by ThexInvisiblexGirl



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drama & Romance, Episode: s10e01 My Struggle, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThexInvisiblexGirl/pseuds/ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: Missing scenes for My Struggle I - Skinner trying to reach Mulder under Tad O'Malley's request triggers a chain of events which evolves into Season 10. This is my version of how it came about.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 10





	1. Part I - Skinner

At the ping of an incoming email he lifted his head from the pile of expense reports on his desk. He looked sideways at the screen of his cell phone, still lit with the email alert, and his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the name of the sender. He grabbed his phone, unlocked it, then glared at the content of the email with growing agitation. How this guy O'Malley had gotten access to his private email was beyond him, but it spoke of determination he was well-familiar with. The guy was relentless as much as he was paranoid. Sort of like the person he was so adamantly trying to reach. He knew the type, and so he knew empty excuses wouldn't appease the younger man. This was the fifth email in the span of three days, arriving in quick succession after about four calls his secretary refused to pass through the previous week. This was a guy who wouldn't take no for an answer. And so, cursing under his breath, he typed in a brief reply, affirming the man's request, then set out on a reluctant search mission. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he would attempt to bring Fox Mulder back from the dead.

It felt like a lifetime ago when he had been Mulder and Scully's superior. He remembered the last time he saw them – when they assisted with that bizarre case of the missing FBI agent years ago. One for the books, for sure; a pedophile priest having visions, a twisted doctor desperate to save his lover, and leaving dozens of casualties in his wake. He wasn't even aware of their involvement until Scully contacted him in a panic. That was when he realized he had really become detached from everything that happened outside his office. The return of the prodigal X Files team was big news around the Hoover building, and yet it somehow passed right by him, until that call. Her voice came as a complete shock, a true blast from the past, and even more shocking was seeing her later. She had inevitably aged, but she was still beautiful, even more so, although he was hardly objective in the matter. In the years since then they kept in touch, but infrequently, the way old acquaintances usually did, on birthdays and Christmas. He knew where they lived now, which was somewhat comforting after all these years of uncertainty.

But now he needed them, and two days following his confirmation to O'Malley, he was stumped. After the third email arrived earlier in the week, mostly to satiate his own curiosity, he drove by the farmhouse in Farrs Corner, but found the place dark and supposedly deserted, without a car in sight, which made him wonder if they'd even still lived there. Mulder wasn't answering his phone – at least the number that had been in his possession. The text he'd attempted to send bounced back, and there didn't seem to be an answering service available. It made sense in a way; Mulder was infamous in his tendency to change phone numbers every few months, a paranoid habit he had picked up along the way and had never grown out of. Scully's cell phone number remained the same – her voice on the voicemail confirmed it. He left her a message urging her to call him, but that was hours ago. Time was of the essence. Sooner or later, O'Malley would just email him again. The other day his secretary was able to confirm that Scully was still employed at the same hospital that was listed on his records. A positive sign, surely. With a deep sigh he lifted the receiver again and tried the hospital directory.

"I'm putting you through now, Sir," a helpful nurse finally said. He barely managed to thank her when there was a rustle, and then her.

"Sir?"

She sounded as if she had aged a thousand years, but at the same time her voice was comfortably familiar. "Dana." It seemed silly to revert back to last names given their history. "Hi. I'm sorry to be calling you at work. I've been trying to reach you on your cell."

"Were you? I'm sorry, I left it in my office, I've been in the OR all morning." Alongside the new maturity in her voice, he could definitely detect exhaustion as well. He could picture her so clearly, leaning against the reception counter to take some weight off her weary feet, the phone pressed to her ear. She would still be wearing her bloody scrubs, a sharp contrast to the power suits he had remembered from back in the day. "How have you been? Is everything okay?"

"Yes and no, I... Something came up and I was hoping you could help me find Mulder."

There was a sharp intake of breath on her end. She cleared her throat in a futile attempt to conceal it. Almost as if his vague request had caught her off-guard, he mused, but banished the thought as soon as it had entered his mind. Absurd. Why would it –

"Mulder?"

"Yes. I've been trying to reach him and I obviously don't have the correct number; he must have changed it several times since the last time we've spoken."

She let out a heavy sigh; in his mind's eye she was closing her eyes while rubbing her temple. Based on that sound alone, he began to wonder if perhaps he was too quick to dismiss this new suspicion that now didn't let him go. "Sir, I... This may come as a surprise, but I haven't seen Mulder in a while."

It was his turn to be caught off-guard. "What do you mean?" The question slipped out before he managed to hold it back, because frankly, the meaning of the words couldn't be clearer; or more astonishing, for that matter. "You're not..." He couldn't even bring himself to ask it. The shift from partners to lovers had always remained somewhat of a taboo. At first given the circumstances – he was their boss and broaching the issue seemed highly inappropriate. He harbored his suspicions of course; it would be idiotic not to, when it came to these two. The way she cornered him to plead with him to watch Mulder's back in Oregon, blushing in a way that was by no means partnerly, the very fact of her miraculous pregnancy, how utterly broken she was throughout Mulder's absence, and the way she never left his side following his return from the dead, witnessing their desperate kiss in that prison cell upon their reunion. But even later, the last time they met, when there was no reason to hide in shadows or keep secrets, there was this wordless agreement this was something that shouldn't be openly discussed.

Nonetheless, she understood what he was asking her now. "I left three years ago. We text occasionally and I've seen him every now and again since, but..."

She let her voice trail with something like guilt in her voice, and without knowing the gritty details, he could hear the pain each and every one of those words inflicted. "Dana..."

"I had to get out of there," she cut him off, as if feeling a need to explain herself. There was almost an apology in her tone, as if she feared he would judge her, wouldn't think her entitled to make such a bold step simply for her own sake. "It was... Things got... He wasn't getting better. He didn't _want_ to get better. I had to..."

She sounded distressed, and he wanted to kick himself for making her relive whatever traumatic event that had made her walk out of that house. He remembered how frantic she was all those years ago when she asked for his help following Mulder's disappearance. During the drive she mentioned in passing that he had become a bit of a recluse over the years, that she'd feared his current mental state would eventually decline and turn into a full-on bout of depression, but he honestly didn't give it more than a moment's thought, especially after seeing the two of them at the hospital later, whispering and touching and kissing when they thought no one was looking. He certainly didn't think things would worsen, cast such a shadow on their relationship. But hearing her now... He had known her well enough to know she wouldn't throw in the towel just like that. These two had shared such a bond. After all these years... Something big must have happened. This was not an easy decision to make; that he knew with absolute certainty.

"I'm so sorry," he said, and he was. Even though there was probably nothing he could possibly do. Thinking back on what she'd told him back then, it was quite possibly an accident waiting to happen.

"It's fine. You didn't know."

"I didn't mean to trouble you with this; I'm sure you're very busy. I'll find a way to reach him somehow."

"No, I... I'll help you. I just don't know if I can."

"You don't have to," he insisted gently.

"I want to."

"You don't think he moved, do you? I drove by the house the other day..."

"I doubt it. He just rarely bothers to answer the door." She cleared her throat again, as if to shake away the mental image. "What is this about? The thing you need his help with? Is it an X File?"

He thought of O'Malley's emails. They were well-penned but not very informative. He simply demanded to contact Fox Mulder; said something about the truth wanting out. Watching a bit of his show online, he could only guess what that would be about. "I'm not sure what to make of it, to be honest. This is such a strange time. Are you familiar with Truth Squad? It's a web show hosted by one Tad O'Malley."

"The name rings a bell. I don't think I ever watched it though, no."

"The guy reached out to me, saying he was referred to you two by an old acquaintance of Mulder's."

"Who?"

"That he didn't say. But he was very adamant I would try to contact him. He needs to meet him; said it was important."

There was a beat, and he wasn't entirely sure what it meant. He wanted to take back his request, tell her he would work it out by himself, but instead she let out a bitter chuckle. "Mulder once said I was like his booking agent these days," she said, her tone more exasperated than nostalgic. "I hate it when he's right." Before he managed to respond, she sighed again with certain resignation. "If you give me a few days, I can try and locate him for you."

She sounded so sad; it was heartbreaking. He shook his head. "Dana, if this is too painful..."

"It's fine, Sir. I owe you a lot more than this. We both do." There was some regret in her tone, as if she too realized how long it had been. "Let me see what I can do, okay? Are you on the same number? I'll text you when I know more."

"I left the number on your answering service."

"Okay."

"Dana, I..."

"I know," she cut him off gently. "I'm sorry too."

There was a click, and then she was gone. He glanced at the email on his phone again, then removed his glasses. As he rubbed the bridge of his nose, he wondered what he'd just gotten himself into.


	2. Part II - Scully

"Are you alright, Dr. Scully?"

The kind voice shook her out of her reverie. She blinked and met the concerned gaze of a passing nurse, as she became aware of the dialing tone that came from the phone that was still pressed to her ear. She murmured an affirmative as she put the phone back in place, then excused herself and hurried down the hall. The brief conversation had left her so rattled that she literally fled into her office – there really wasn't any other way to put it. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and released a shaky breath. As she began to feel more grounded, she walked to the window and took several deep breathes to calm her racing mind. Looking down, she noticed her hands were shaking.

It wasn't Skinner himself who got her so distraught, nor was it his request. Perhaps it was the abruptness in which her old life had always tended to sneak up on her, like when that FBI agent cornered her in this very hospital years ago, bringing her tumbling back into the darkness she had stupidly believed she had been able to leave behind. Although Skinner didn't have much information to share, she got the impression his request would end up leading her down that same rabbit hole.

She turned to look around her office, in every way the epitome of her life after the X Files, a stark contrast to the cramped, musty basement where she'd spent nearly a decade of her life. It wasn't large, but it was spacious enough; her own personal space despite her arguably less significant role as a surgeons' assistant, with her very own desk and name plate on the door. And yet. While she loved her job at the hospital and felt its positive impact on her every single day, something remained missing. Whereas back in the day she believed that having her own desk would give her some sense of self in a job where she'd often felt like a sidekick, her office at the hospital lacked the twisted sense of home that seemed inseparable from the basement at the Hoover building. Her current office lacked personality; it felt sterile and aloof. There were no photographs or personal items, nothing to associate it with her or vice versa.

As her gaze travelled to her right, she realized it wasn't quite accurate. She did have something of her own here, one item that set her office apart from its generic counterparts: a perfect lilac-colored orchid she had been tending carefully, religiously almost, for several years now. She found herself smiling at the memory almost despite herself – how Mulder appeared with it on the doorstep of her office one day, so damn proud of himself and making all the nurses on call swoon. _It's the 15th anniversary to the day we first met_ , he beamed at her, then mock-chided her for overlooking the date, as if it was one they had marked annually. Her smile widened an inch. It was so typically Mulder – when he bothered with romantic gestures, he went all the way.

It was nice to be reminded of moments like this, because it wasn't all bad; not at first. It was a relief to finally settle down, to have a place they could call their own and lead something close to a normal life. Around that time he'd taken to calling her "honey", and despite rolling her eyes at him the first few times, whenever he did so, with such tenderness, she thought her insides would melt. When she worked late hours he cooked them dinner, a hobby he'd turned to as a result of boredom and unemployment. They used to dance around the living room to the sounds of Elvis or Sinatra, or cuddle on the porch swing with a mug of tea or a glass of wine. But then, when things got bad, they got _bad_. In the months after she had left, whenever she stopped by to check on him, make sure he was eating properly and taking his meds, she always needed half a day to recover. Slowly but assuredly, the entire bottom floor became an extension of the office he had spent most of his adult life in, and the atmosphere became toxic as his attitude turned sour, almost hostile. Having to witness it all had simply become too painful, and so she stopped coming.

_You're not together anymore?_ That was the question Skinner didn't dare utter, but what he'd clearly wanted to know. She could hear the shock in his voice, the sincerely behind each and every one of his "I'm sorry"s. She remembered her mother's astonishment when she appeared on her doorstep in tears, how she seemed to hold back her many queries as she was staying in her guest room. To be honest, it was a while before her own bewilderment abated to a degree that allowed her to look passed it. Even as she finally got herself together, she felt numb with it, as if the enormity of her actions hadn't quite sunk in. They'd been through hell and back together; it was unconceivable to think it could actually come to an end the way that it eventually did.

She sat down and reached for the cabinet underneath her desk where she'd stashed her bag throughout the day, placed it on her desk and pulled out her phone. Sure enough, there was the alert for Skinner's voicemail, which she ignored for now, having already spoken to him. Her fingers operated almost on their own accord, scrolling, searching, finding. She took a deep breath and examined the content on the screen.

The last time she's texted him was over two months ago, a mundane exchange simply to ask after his well-being. His was the last message in the thread, as she'd absentmindedly forgotten to reply to some random meme he'd attached; quite possibly she got sidetracked by a surgery or a staff meeting. She scrolled back and reread some of the older texts. The ones dating back to her leaving were mostly questions and pleadings on her part, monosyllables on his (when he even bothered with a reply), but as they progressed, he appeared gradually better, less haunted, more like the man she'd fallen in love with. He seemed to be taking better care of himself. Even now, it made her dizzy with relief.

She glanced at his contact information and noticed that he was online. Nonetheless, she placed her phone aside, not willing to make that call just yet. Even these days, despite the fact he was evidently better, she still needed to mentally prepare herself before contacting him. As amiable as things currently were between them, she still felt incredibly fragile when it came to matters in which Fox Mulder was concerned.

Turning to her computer, she searched for Tad O'Malley's show, only to roll her eyes and turn it off less than halfway through. He was intelligent and charismatic, but the content of his show was so outrageously paranoid he could easily give Mulder a run for his money. She wondered what could he possibly want with Mulder, how he'd even heard of him. Then again, given their history, she figured Mulder's reputation preceded him, apparently even after all these years.

Her bag still on her desk, she glanced at the door before reaching for an inner pocket, feeling the lining until she found the velvet pouch she'd been looking for. The ring inside it was a simple band of rose gold, its inside engraved with their initials and the date: 12-22-2012. At the time, they thought the coincidence was hilarious. She slipped it onto her finger and looked at it thoughtfully. Despite the grim circumstances, she couldn't help but grin impishly at the thought of Skinner's reaction to _this_. Learning of their breakup got him in such a state; she could only guess how he would react to them being married, a fact known to precious few. But the grin evaporated almost as soon as it had appeared, and was replaced by a wistful sigh. They had lasted for years and years being one another's significant other in every possible way, but they were married for barely six months before it all fell apart. It was beyond ridiculous, really. More than anything, it saddened her. For once in who knew how long she'd actually been craving the happily ever after, the happy ending she felt they had rightfully earned.

Her eyes travelled once more towards the orchid, and she allowed a sliver of optimism to ease off her gloom. Whereas she knew they were equally responsible for the way things had gone downhill, she couldn't help blaming herself to an extent. _Don't give up_ had become her philosophy of sorts, and not being able to apply it to their relationship pained her. It was in part why the orchid was still thriving – she refused to let it deteriorate as well. It was her symbol of hope, a reminder that she didn't give up on them, not entirely. If she did, she would have cut him out of her life, and the very thought was unbearable. This was simply a setback, she told herself when she was feeling particularly low. And perhaps, like the orchid renewed itself every time it was in bloom, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, they might have another chance too. There would come a time when wearing the ring wouldn't cause her heart to break all over again. She wanted to believe there were better times ahead for them.

She sighed and rose, slipping the phone into the front pocket of her scrubs. This conversation required privacy, but she's been gone for so long it was a wonder no one had come looking for her yet. And so after securing the ring back in its tiny velvet pouch and stashing her bag in its cabinet, she left her office and headed back towards the OR. First things first, though; she couldn't put it off any longer.

It was time to call her husband.


	3. Part III - Mulder

This could have easily become an X File.

Whenever she lured him into taking a bath with her (granted, there was not _that_ much convincing involved), it was not until he was completely submerged that he wondered how on earth he'd once again let her do this. She had cast some sort of a dark spell upon him, he used to tell her, and she gave him a look as if there was something only she had known. But who was he kidding? It was the best kind of spell. The bubbles were like small, flower-scented clouds, floating on the surface. Her skin was like ivory in the dim light. Her hair, the color of a flame and the longest he'd ever seen it, was tucked safely away on the crown of her head. He dipped a sponge in water before letting it rest against her shoulder blades. She shivered involuntarily on first contact, then hummed contentedly as he moved it in small circles, pressing his lips to her skin every now and again.

He let go of the sponge, replacing it with his fingers. She squirmed a little at the different sensation, but then giggled softly and eased into his touch. He drew random shapes at first – a cloud, a heart, an alien, her name and then his. Then his fingers began to move out of their own accord almost, spelling out two words – _Marry Me_. Somewhere in the middle of it he felt her freeze, as if waiting to see if this was going where she thought this was going. He leaned forward to leave a kiss on the scar at the back of her neck, a question mark of sorts, suddenly anxious. It wasn't something he'd planned on doing, but at the same time, now that the question was out, he knew it had been long overdue. Although neither of them spoke yet, the air around them suddenly felt different, charged with something he couldn't quite define. He thought he should probably say something, explain himself, tell her to just forget it, that he didn't mean –

She turned to face him, their gazes locking. Her face gave nothing away. She reached for his hand, disturbing the calm of the water, the turmoil of his thoughts. Once she was sure she got his attention, she lowered her eyes to their now joined hands, and he let his eyes follow. Spreading his palm gently, she let her fingers brush against his skin before tracing a pattern – a word, he realized. He was holding his breath as she slowly spelt _Yes_.

"Really?" he whispered, and the word sounded like a shout in the quiet room. She lifted her gaze to his again and nodded. Her sealed expression broke into a smile; her eyes were gleaming, maybe with tears.

He opened his eyes and shook his head as if that was enough to leave the memory behind, but it was no use. It lingered in every corner of the house they once shared, especially in the bathroom, where the tub stood deserted and unused since she'd been gone. He remembered the elation of the moment. The only time he'd ever felt such pure bliss before was while holding his son for the first time. When she told him she'd marry him, he felt absolutely invincible. He had considered that moment a turning point, only its nature turned out to be completely different than he'd thought.

It had been three years since she left. On the one hand, he'd barely noticed the time fly, but on the other, he felt every single day of it. He didn't resent her for leaving – in hindsight, he considered it his wakeup call. But in the beginning, this seemed exactly what he had needed. He was craving silence. Her ongoing criticism irritated him to no end. She insisted he was depressed and prescribed all sorts of pills he would ignore just to spite her. He became distant and withdrawn; he just wanted her to stop getting on his case. He spent more and more time in his study, to better avoid the sadness and disappointment and judgment in her eyes. After she left, she would drop by for a visit every now and again at first, but he couldn't find the energy within him to even care, and at some point, as if she'd sensed his animosity, those visits stopped too.

He should have known by now to be careful what he wished for – it wasn't until she was gone that the silence suddenly became unbearable. It echoed from every wall. He felt as if he'd completely lost himself, overwhelmed by loneliness as he was. When it got to a point where he couldn't remember which day it was or when was the last time he ate or shaved or did laundry, it was as if an alarm went off in his head. He realized he should get his shit together. He took the meds she had prescribed, started working out again, took walks in the woods. It was a work in progress, but he could feel himself getting better. It wasn't until he dared texting her, several months later, that he felt he was slowly starting to find himself again. In all this time, he hadn't changed his cell phone number, a record for him. Even when they fell out of touch, in his darkest moments, it felt important that she'd be able to reach him, had she wanted to.

It was a strange day – meeting her on the busy street in DC, and everything that followed. Some of it felt like an out of body experience. The subtle compliment disguised as a sarcastic remark about the good leaving the house had done her didn't do her justice – he'd forgotten how gorgeous she looked in a sharp outfit and high heels; it actually took his breath away when he first laid eyes on her. It didn't take him long to notice she wasn't wearing her ring, but he couldn't bring himself to resent her or confront her – he wasn't wearing his either, and he couldn't even tell himself why. Nonetheless, of all the things to ponder over – the possible return of the X Files, a global conspiracy so enormous it was mind-blowing – the thing he couldn't stop thinking about was the way this guy O'Malley was looking at her. He was clearly interested, and even if she remained as no-nonsense and professional as ever, there was clearly a spark there.

Seeing the way O'Malley was taken with her stirred something inside him. As embarrassing as it was to admit, the presence of another man, younger and more charismatic, had disrupted the dynamic that had become second nature to him. Absurdly enough, it made old insecurities resurface, which was probably why he'd acted like an obnoxious jerk, calling her Dana for the sole purpose of irking her, putting her on the spot in a way he knew she disliked. He knew that his behavior was idiotic, but it was as though he had no control over it.

Mostly what it did, though, was making him realize he had taken her for granted for a long time now. He'd forgotten how to vie for her attention, how to fight for her, because for so long, he simply didn't have to. But now, he could feel it like a tidal wave, a new sense of purpose taking over. It had been a while since he'd last felt so invigorated, and not just about the possibility of the X Files taking center stage again. Awful first impression aside, he was a better person with her around – it had always been the case. He was determined to prove it to her, remind her how good they were together in every possible sense. For the first time since forever, he felt his lips curl in a smile. It had been too long since he'd proved her wrong.

His cell phone chirped with a new text message, making him jump with a start. He grabbed it, hoping it would be her, only to groan in dismay as the screen lit up with Tad O'Malley's name. _I want to show you something. Can I pick you up in twenty?_ Only after sending his affirmative reply, he remembered O'Malley didn't even know where he lived. He reached for his phone again, then thought better of it and lay it aside. Let him figure it out himself if he was so clever, he thought smugly, and rose in search of his jacket.

He looked around the house as if for the first time, taking in the clutter of case files and news clippings and sunflower seeds. He could barely remember what the space looked like before, when she was still living there, but it was all a question of scraping the surface. It was all still underneath, waiting to be uncovered. The past few years felt like a blur, but now it was as if a fog was slowly being lifted. He was beginning to feel like his old self again.

There was a change coming; he could almost sense it. Things could be well again. If he played his cards right, he just might win her back. He thought back of his gentle threat to her when she first called. _Don't pretend I'm going alone_. He could feel resolve warming his very bones. It felt as if he'd finally found the answer to a question he didn't even know he'd been asking.

He was tired of being alone.


End file.
